Kiss of Death

by Lauren Henderson

  “It’s okay!” I hold up a hand to stop her apologies. “I get it, I really do! I’d probably have done exactly the same thing.”

  Her shoulders sag in relief.

  “Of course,” she says, shoving her hair back from her face, “the irony was that Seth turned out to be completely sucky at shadowing you without being spotted.” She rolls her eyes. “He was too worried about me. He thought I might be in danger too. So he got way too close, just in case anyone tried to do something to us, so he’d be there to defend us. But that meant you saw him. Which,” she adds with the kind of withering sarcasm you’d only use about a close relative, “is because he did the worst job of surveillance ever in the history of the world. I could hear him a mile off! He might as well have been walking along next to us! When we were coming back from the Shore, and I told you it was just dry leaves on the ground making that noise, I was just dying inside with embarrassment that my brother was being so totally lame!”

  Taylor’s expression is so contemptuous that I can’t help giggling.

  “I mean, please,” she finishes, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Humiliating. And down there on the ghost tour! You spotted him twice—I mean, he was just standing there in plain sight! I could have killed him! What did he think was going to happen to us with a whole lot of girls and teachers around? What an idiot!”

  “He did save my life,” I point out in his defense. “And he was fantastic afterwards, too. I’m worried I didn’t thank him enough. He really came through when I needed him.”

  “Yeah, well. There is that,” she acknowledges, rocking back on her heels. “God, Scarlett, I’ve never been in such a state in my life when your aunt took you out of that ghost tour. Finally, she was going to be alone with you. And you were so wound up I knew she could have gotten away with murder—all the teachers and girls would have told the police that you were totally hysterical. If your aunt had managed to push you out that window, no way would they have done an autopsy and found out you had antihistamines in your system. They’d have said you were having a meltdown, maybe that you were trying to get attention, and that you slipped and fell out the window.”

  I nod, slowly. “I couldn’t let you come with us, though,” I say. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you—”

  “No, it was,” Taylor interrupts. “And you were right, okay? You shouldn’t have trusted me. I told you that you didn’t see something you saw with your own eyes. I lied to you. You must have thought you were going crazy.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t know what to think,” I admit. “I was so confused.”

  “I texted Seth right away,” she says, “and told him you were leaving with her, and to follow you and make sure you weren’t alone with her. He got a cab, and the only sensible thing he did at all was to get into the school and find where you both were.” She shivers. “It sounds like he got there just in time.”

  I nod. “I was so dozy with the antihistamines, Seth said he was worried the police would think I was on drugs.”

  “Well, it turned out okay,” Taylor says. “He flew out of Edinburgh this morning, back to the States. The police said he could leave. I mean, they’re agreeing it was an accident.”

  “It was an accident,” I say simply. “He was just fending her off. She tripped and fell all on her own.”

  We fall silent for a while, thinking over the crazy events of the last few days. Here, on the terrace of Wakefield Hall, where everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost hard to believe what we went through in Edinburgh.

  “I just want to go to sleep for a week,” I say fervently, slipping down from the balustrade. “Let’s go and get my stuff into my new room. And then we could bike to Wakefield village and get some decent food. The kitchen’s even worse in holidays than in term time.”

  “Um, Scarlett?” Taylor comes up behind me as I take the handle of my suitcase. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.…”

  I dart a glance at her and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise; she looks—I have to think hard to find the word, because it’s one I would never associate with Taylor—insecure. She’s staring down at her feet as we walk along the terrace, refusing to meet my gaze; her hands are shoved into her pockets as if she’s trying to root them down to Australia.

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly madly curious.

  “You and Jase,” she starts, “you’re, um, all good, right?”

  I feel a blush spread across my face as I think about that night under the stars at the quarry party.

  “Definitely,” I say, happily embarrassed. “More than ever. We sort of, um, did stuff. Not, you know, it,” I add quickly, in case she worries about me. “But, um, stuff. And it was wonderful.”

  “Well, that’s cool,” she says, kicking a stray pebble against the wall. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Taylor?” I stop at the top of the stone staircase that leads down to ground level, leaning on the suitcase handle. “You’re sounding totally weird.”

  “That’s ’cause I did stuff at the party, too,” she says, and to my utter surprise, I notice that her cheeks are red too. Really red. Like ripe tomatoes.

  “Cool! Why are you looking so guilty? You didn’t do anything with Jase,” I say confidently. I have no idea what’s going on here, but that at least I’m sure of; I can’t think of another reason why she’s looking so embarrassed, though.

  “No!” She looks horrified. “God, no!” And, if possible, she goes even redder. “With, um—”

  “With Ewan!” I say cheerfully. “Oh, Taylor, that’s brilliant! I could tell he really liked you!”

  “No,” Taylor says, doggedly pressing on, her entire face the color of a postbox by now. “With Callum.”

  “You what?”

  In my amazement, I knock the handle of my suitcase, which tips toward Taylor. She jumps out of the way to avoid it, but much more awkwardly than she normally would; she bumps into a big stone vase planted with peonies, and falls back into it, bottom first, as my suitcase tips head over foot and crashes down the staircase before I can catch it.

  The expression on Taylor’s face is priceless. She hates to be out of control; she hates to do anything clumsy. Her eyes are wide in shock, her mouth hanging open, as she stares at me above her knees, which are almost as high as her head because her bum’s landed deep on the soil in the vase. I’m giggling hysterically at the sight of her.

  “Pull me out!” she yells furiously, wriggling in the vase; the more she moves, the more flowers she squashes. “Pull me out!”

  Through my laughter, I manage to walk over and take her hands. It’s really hard to get her out of the vase without tipping it over, as she’s fairly low down; I have to haul her up bodily while propping the vase with my foot at the same time. By the time she’s standing back next to me, the carefully planted peonies are completely flattened; I look down at them and start to laugh all over again.

  “I’ve got flowers all over my butt!” Taylor exclaims crossly, twisting round to slap at the bum of her jeans, which sets me off even more. “It’s not funny!”

  I bite my lip, take a pull at myself, and shake my head.

  “It’s all your fault,” she snaps. “You threw your suitcase at me.”

  “Sorry,” I say meekly.

  “I was telling you something really big, and you threw your suitcase at me!” She finishes dusting soil off her bottom.

  “You have some petals down there.…” I reach out to pick them off where they’re caught on her back pocket, but she slaps my hand away.

  “So”—I start down the staircase, hoping she’ll follow—“you snogged Callum?”

  “It was an accident,” she says in a small voice from behind my shoulder.

  I retrieve the suitcase, which doesn’t seem to have broken, and start to pull it round the walkway to the dormitory wing.

  “That sounds interesting,” I say, keeping my voice deliberately neutral.

  And then it all bursts out from her in a flood as she d
ashes to walk beside me.

  “I always liked him,” she confesses. “Even when we were up at Castle Airlie. But obviously, it was all so messed up then—and you kissed him at the airport, so I didn’t think about him anymore. Well, not much,” she adds honestly. Taylor’s always brutally honest. “But I thought we’d never see him again, and you’d kissed him, so that sort of made it clear that I wasn’t going to have a chance with him. Then we bumped into him at the gig, and I thought he was gorgeous. But you and Jase were sort of broken up, and you’d kissed Callum before, so I just sat back to see what would happen with you two.”

  “Ewan was really into you,” I comment.

  “I know. He was putting his arm around me and kissing my neck at the party when we went off to explore, so I had to tell him I didn’t like him that way and not to do that anymore.”

  “Wow. Is that what you really said?”

  “Sure!” Taylor sounds baffled. “I’m always really straightforward with boys.”

  “Good for you,” I say, bouncing my case round the corner of the building. “I think I’d make up a lot of pathetic excuses. Your way’s much better.”

  “So then it was a bit awkward,” she goes on. “We hung out with some other people and played bongos for a while—”

  “You’re really good at those,” I comment.

  “I know,” she says smugly. “I’m better than Seth. He hates that. Anyway, we decided to come back and see what you were doing, and Callum said you’d gone for a pee, so we hung out, and I started playing bongos and Callum was playing his violin and Ewan saw some people he knew and went off to play with them, and I sort of lost track of time.” She clears her throat. “I mean, I knew your aunt wasn’t going to sneak up and attack you at a quarry party, so I wasn’t worried about you.”

  “Was Seth there?”

  Taylor snorts. “Right. I was really going to tell my older brother to follow us when we snuck out to go to an all-night party with boys,” she says contemptuously. “Sometimes I can totally tell you don’t have brothers.”

  I bow my head, duly reproved. We’ve reached the fire doors for the dormitory; Taylor holds them open. I bump my case through and pick it up as we climb the stairs.

  “So we stopped playing, and Callum said we sounded amazing together, which we did,” she goes on. “And then we just looked at each other for a bit, and suddenly, um, it was obvious that we had a connection. It was like the music made it happen. And he looked really surprised. Like he hadn’t been expecting it at all. But then he sort of leaned toward me, and I asked if, you know, anything had happened with you. Because he was into you before, I could tell. And he said yeah, you’d kissed, and it was weird cause there was nothing there, and he thought that was partly why you’d gone off. And I believed him.”

  “It was true,” I confirm, looking at her as we reach the top of the stairs. I pause, seeing her relax in relief. “And it was weird. Like plugging something in and turning it on, but then it just doesn’t work.”

  “I’ve had that with boys,” Taylor says. “It’s like there’s no there there.”

  I giggle.

  “Exactly.”

  “And the next thing, we were kissing,” she says, blushing now, her cheeks on fire. “I think it might have been me who kissed him first.”

  “And there was a there there,” I say cheerfully.

  “Um, yeah. So we totally lost track of time. And then I freaked out and rang you, and you were with Jase, and I said to Callum you’d got back with your ex, and he said it was weird you’d never mentioned him, and I said it was a messed-up situation, and then he said …”

  She trails off.

  “Go on,” I prompt.

  “He said, ‘Why are we talking about them when we could be doing this?’ and he kissed me again. A lot,” she finishes, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Oh, Taylor.” I reach out and put an arm around her shoulder, hugging her awkwardly. “I’m really happy for you.”

  “We’re going to try to go on seeing each other,” she says, shrugging, trying to sound cool, when it’s blindingly obvious that she’s anything but. “Sort of see what happens. But it was—” She gives up trying to be cool, and looks directly at me, fire-engine red, her eyes shining. “It was—” She gulps. “I mean, neither of us ever felt anything like that before. We both said it.”

  “Poor Ewan,” I say wryly.

  “Yeah, Callum felt a bit bad,” Taylor admits. “Apparently Ewan’d been going on about me a lot.”

  “It’s chemistry, though,” I say, thinking of me and Callum, and me and Jase. “I thought I had it with Callum, but maybe it was just the drama of the situation. Or maybe it was there before, but now all I can think about is Jase, so I don’t have it with anyone else. Anyway, that’s chemistry—you can’t fake it and you can’t change it.”

  “So true,” Taylor says dreamily.

  “You know what? I’m starving,” I say, realizing all of a sudden that I haven’t eaten for ages. Which is very unlike me. All the pent-up tension from the last few days is draining away; Jase and I are stronger than ever, I’ve started a real relationship with my grandmother, and Taylor and I have confided everything in each other and come out the other side.

  Taylor looks as if she’s unloaded the weight of the world off her shoulders.

  “Me too! Hey, we don’t have to bike to the village right now. I forgot I’ve got cookies in my room,” she offers. “Chocolate chip.”

  “I could eat a whole tin,” I say, setting off down the corridor.

  We’re almost at her room when a bedroom door opens and Plum’s head pops out.

  Damn, I think. I totally forgot. Plum had to come back to school with us when the field trip finished early, because her parents are skiing in Verbier and not due back for two days; all the other Wakefield Hall girls had parents who could come and pick them up from King’s Cross station. I assumed we would try to stay out of her way as much as possible, but there’s been so much else going on that her presence in school was pushed to the back of my mind.

  She looks as if she’s been crying. Her eyes are swollen and puffy, and I think it may be the first time I’ve seen Plum without any makeup at all.

  “I was waiting for you,” she says, emerging into the corridor. She’s wearing a big T-shirt that comes down to midthigh, the kind you sleep in, and baggy pajama bottoms; her hair’s greasy and pulled off her face in a messy ponytail. I’ve never seen Plum looking the same age as us before, rather than years older and layered in effortless sophistication.

  “I wanted to talk to you about”—she gulps—“you know. What you saw the other night. Or what you think you saw.”

  “Please,” Taylor says witheringly. “We know what we saw.”

  “Susan had a nightmare,” Plum says weakly. “I was just comforting her.…”

  “You’re not really going to try that, are you?” Taylor interrupts. I glance over at her; she gives me an “I’m taking this one” look.

  I nod. After all, Taylor’s the one Plum taunted for ages about being gay, as if it were some sort of crime. Plum kept mocking Taylor for being butch. Taylor deserves to get satisfaction for that. Taylor plants her hands on her hips and stares Plum down.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being gay!” she says to Plum. “Just admit that you are!”

  Plum takes a deep breath.

  “Maybe I’m bisexual,” she mutters, shamefaced.

  “No one actually cares what you are,” I chime in.

  “It’s just sad when you have to lie about it,” Taylor says coldly. “And call other people gay, like it’s an insult or something. It’s tragic.”

  Plum’s hanging her head.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” she whispers.

  “Oh yeah, Scarlett and I are really going to rush right out and gossip about your private life,” Taylor says. “You’re the most fascinating subject ever! We never talk about anything else when we’re by ourselves! We’re almost as interested in you
and Susan as you are in me and Scarlett!”

  Plum’s clearly on the verge of tears.

  “Look, rub it in as much as you want,” she mutters. “I deserve it. I completely deserve it. I’ve been a total bitch to both of you. You can torture me as much as you want, just please don’t tell anyone.…”

  “Why does it even matter?” I can’t help asking. “The only person who seems to think it’s a big deal is you. Even when you were going on and on about Taylor and me being a couple, none of the other girls really cared.”

  “Self-hating,” Taylor says. “Like I said, totally tragic.”

  Plum raises her head, her eyes big with fear.

  “My dad would have a fit,” she breathes unhappily. “He’s expecting me to make a really good marriage. No one’s gay in our world.” She catches herself. “Or at least they’re not out. If my father knew, he’d cut me off without a penny—”

  “Nice,” Taylor interrupts. “So money’s more important to you than being yourself.”

  “It isn’t—but …” Plum’s voice trails off. She looks hopelessly at me.

  “I never thought I’d say this,” I comment as Taylor turns away, “but I feel sad for you.”

  Plum swallows hard.

  “I’ll agree with every single thing both of you say from now on,” she promises as Taylor walks off down the corridor. “Honestly I will.”

  “Eew!” I recoil, revolted. “Yuck! I don’t want you to do that!”

  The thought of Plum sucking up, as desperate as she was on the ghost tour, running after me like a Lizzie-like puppy, makes me want to throw up.

  “Don’t be a bitch,” I say simply. “Just stop being a horrible bitch. Not just to us. To everyone.”

  From Plum’s appalled expression, I can see that she’s going to find that much harder than sucking up.

  I start to walk off, pulling my suitcase. Then a last thought stops me, and I stop, swinging around.